


A Million City Savages

by thanatopis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Betrayal, Dirty Talk, Enemy Lovers, M/M, Organized Crime, Sexual Tension, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: With a desire to push more than just paper, police officer Hudson McKowen is selected to infiltrate the notorious Dumont crime organization. Hudson has always been ambitious; eager for the chance to prove himself and move up the ranks no matter the cost, but when Hudson meets Benjamin Dumont, the eldest son and heir, those goals begin to deviate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am back with something that is a bit different. I am beginning to focus on my original stories, some of which have been in limbo on my hard drive since 2015. This is one of them! I probably started this about a year ago, if that. I hope you all enjoy the utter disasters that are Hudson and Benjamin.

There were sayings about scorned lovers. 

_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, _Hudson recollected. He tried to recall if there had ever been a saying for men who had been wronged, hearts ravaged, thrown away without a care, and Hudson couldn’t think of one. 

If there had to be a saying—one that encapsulates the heart’s plight of a man who’d been mistreated and deceived—Hudson might’ve thought it would go something like this:

_Death be kinder than peering into the wretched gaze of the man whom you promised forever; fore when you look behind, all that remains is bitter, burning ash and a scorch mark of where you left him._

The door to Hudson’s apartment was unlocked. 

The key pushed into place and when Hudson’s wrist turned, there was no hint of resistance. The door swung open with more force than was necessary, leading the knob to knock against the far wall with a loud bang.

The situation wasn’t enough to cause immediate concern. Hudson had left his door unlocked many times before, more times than he would like to admit, so he didn’t think much of it. His thoughts were preoccupied with the promise of a hot shower and the comfort of his unmade bed.

Hudson had been engrossed in these thoughts and little else, so it was a bit of a surprise to find Benjamin Dumont in his apartment, the silhouette of him ominous and foreboding as he waited in the dark. 

It had only taken seven months for this particular mistake of Hudson’s to finally catch up to him. 

_Damn_. 

It was a relief in a way; he’d been expecting Ben’s reappearance for months now, anticipating it like the drop of an axe. Hudson had become hypersensitive to the slightest of stimulus that reminded him of Ben.

Sometimes it was the slight curling of dark chocolate brown hair or the crisp, sharp smell of autumn after rain that would trigger these phantasms. He would see flashes of Ben’s face in his peripheral, making Hudson’s heart spike in a thudding gallop and his stomach drop before his brain could catch up and rationalize that the stranger sitting opposite him on the L wasn’t Ben.

It had become a familiar habit with its own routine. 

Often Hudson would stare until the superimposed image of Ben’s face would fade away, revealing the uncomfortable expression of the man he’d been fixed upon. Often, Hudson would apologize, short of breath, his face as white as a sheet as he hurried some piss-poor excuse off his frazzled tongue. _Sorry man, I thought—you look like someone I know. _Often, the man whose face was all wrong would quickly brush him off—less often they’d hesitantly ask if he was alright. Hudson wasn’t, but he didn’t need to traumatize a random stranger any further.

And so, it happened, over and over again; Ben haunting him on the train, in the grocery store, at the gym.

Until now.

A thought made flesh. A dream and nightmare both.

Hudson inhaled on a sharp breath. He felt the cold, stabbing awareness of his body, the sensation far from the indifferent daze that followed him in his usual day to day. Hudson’s eyes never left Ben as he slowly lowered his bag to the floor and pushed it off somewhere towards the side with his shoe. His entire body grew taut with alarm, his lower back breaking out in a cold sweat. Hudson expected an ambush of bats and iron-knuckle fists to leap out of the shadows and beat him into a bloody pulp; he found his unease growing when no such thing happened. 

He closed the door with a soft click. 

He couldn’t know for sure, but for all appearances, it seemed to be just he and Ben in Hudson’s one-bedroom apartment in Midtown. That almost felt worse in some abstract way—being with Ben one-on-one.

It was this moment—the anticipation of it—that kept Hudson up most nights; the expectation of when, where, and how, tumbling over and over in his mind, noisy and distracting, like a pebble in a drier. The thoughts were all-consuming—_intrusive_—and it was impossible for Hudson not to agonize and lament over the night where he’d gone and fucked it all up.

The bust had been scheduled to take place on the Sunday evening of Superbowl weekend. 

Three years of Hudson’s life had been devoted to the deep undercover operation; three years of sowing himself into the foundation of the Dumont’s organization and becoming an integral figure amongst their ranks, trusted and known to be incredibly competent in the tasks awarded to him.

Hudson was good at his job—most would’ve argued too good. 

Spearheading the operation was Captain Fowler; a man who’d seen more than just a baby face, red-cheeked, curly-haired rookie who’d been stuck behind a desk for the better part of a year filing paperwork and not much else. Hudson was hungry for opportunity, eager in ways others were envious of and Fowler had seen that—had cultivated it into something useful. The Captain had taken Hudson under his wing, much to the chagrin of his peers, some of whom held seniority and favorability amongst other high-ranking officers.

Thankfully, Fowler didn’t give one flying fuck about office politics. Unfortunately, it didn’t make Hudson very popular within the precinct. 

Fowler felt confident that Hudson had gathered enough evidence that the Superbowl Sunday bust would not only lead to the incarceration of the Dumont organization’s head, but a few of his close-knit associates as well. 

If they pulled this off—if _Hudson_ managed to pull this off—it would be a monumental win, jump-starting the trajectory of Hudson’s career, giving him the groundwork to one day run for the Sheriff’s office once he’d established himself further.

It was a plan he’d envisioned for himself since he was old enough to dream and nothing was going to stop Hudson from achieving it.

The Dumont’s clubhouse was near Hyde Park. 

It doubled as their base of operations and where Ben and his friends would drink, smoke, and screw around until they got bored and left to wreak their own havoc in Chicago’s greater metropolitan area. 

Sometime during, Hudson had begun to think of the condo as a second home. The sentiment wasn’t something that Hudson dwelled on or tried to analyze when he had the time for introspection. What he’d done already was cause enough for concern. His lines were blurred, mixed together until the hues were mottled and brackish gray, and the war that raged within Hudson continued on, unmanaged and ignored.

He was nothing if not a great liar.

In the theater room with the game projected on the far wall, the boys drank and jeered insults at the Patriots while throwing popcorn at close-ups of Tom Brady. Ben had been a warm weight next to Hudson, his calloused fingers carding absentmindedly through the short hairs at Hudson’s nape, scratching at the sensitive skin of his scalp while Hudson whooped and hollered, as rowdy as the rest of them. 

Fuck Monty and Westbrook, Tom Brady was fucking awesome. 

Ben’s interest had been elsewhere. He’d been flashing Hudson these _looks _all night; heavy and lingering, communicating his utter willingness to ditch the game and give Hudson a real reason to shout. Hudson had smiled at Ben apologetically, gave him placating kisses that he hadn’t allowed Ben to deepen, kept telling him—_later baby, I promise. We’ll head out if I can call it in the fourth—_until even Hudson began to believe his own lie. 

His house of cards had been fragile from the very start, but they remained upright until the power suddenly cut out and the front windows shattered. His two lives violently collided in a flurry of flash grenades, smoke bombs, and stray gun shots. Hudson maneuvered through it in a daze; time felt molasses thick as he waded through the chaos separate from himself.

Hudson had lost sight of Ben in the pandemonium of it all. He stumbled outside, shielding his eyes against the bright flashing lights. The February chill seeped into Hudson’s bones like a suggestion; _you should’ve run away with him_, his body screamed.

Hudson thought he knew what he might feel after the sting; perhaps accomplished and proud, maybe even a bit smug. He waited for the triumphant feeling of a job well done and began to panic when no such thought came. His dread reached its crescendo when Hudson caught sight of Matthieu Dumont, Ben’s little brother, being held back as he watched his father, handcuffed and bruised, duck into the back of a patroller. The sense of regret Hudson felt in that moment was so large and encompassing, that he doubled over and threw up on his shoes.

_I fucked up_, Hudson had thought as he purged partially digested chicken wings, pizza, and beer on the front lawn. It had been a mistake. A mistake that he’d never be able to take back or make amends. And Ben. Oh god, Ben—

The realization of what he had done to the man he’d come to care so deeply for made Hudson dry-heave until his throat was raw and his body had nothing left to give.

The back of his hand swept over his mouth as he righted himself, spitting the acidic taste of bile from his tongue. Hudson was bone-achingly tired, disoriented, and sore, but his mind was manic in his urgent need for Ben. His head swung around wildly, his lungs burning with the repressed urge to scream Ben’s name. The sight of him like nourishment, soothing Hudson’s aches and pains with just a glimpse, and Hudson was desperate for that simple comfort he hadn’t realized he’d come to need so much.

God—where the _fuck_ was Ben? 

His head swiveled; body jittery as sweat cooled on his skin. Oh god—what if Ben was still inside the clubhouse? What if he’d been hurt and Hudson had just left him? His cerebrum ignited with those thoughts and more. 

There had always been a fear within Hudson that had imagined Ben being hurt or detained in the altercation; Ben was intensely protective of his people and wouldn’t stand by while someone threatened that peace. The list of people that wanted Benjamin Dumont in prison with his father far outweighed Hudson’s selfish desire to see him remain free, but it didn’t matter what he wanted. Never had. 

Hudson’s mouth parted on a shout, ready to bellow Ben’s name, but his breath caught short when he locked eyes with Ben from across the lawn. Right then, Hudson knew Ben had been watching him the entire time.

It landed like a physical blow, making Hudson visibly flinch. There wasn’t an option to hide.

Ben’s gaze had been wild—an unhinged void that looked back and asked Hudson, _how could you?_

Hudson watched with a morbid, almost macabre fascination as the tremble in Ben’s shoulders intensified and a kaleidoscope of emotions flashed in dizzying relief on his face. It felt like an eternity between that moment and the next, with Hudson being torn into pieces. 

Ben took a shaky step and swayed towards the side before catching himself, arm held out for balance. Hudson’s entire body jerked forward; it was an instinctual, deep seated need to rush to Ben—to steady him and take him away from here—but his feet were rooted to the spot, stupefied into ineffectiveness. 

The next step was sturdier, shoes digging into the dirt as Ben pushed forward, gaining speed, barreling towards Hudson like a man possessed. His teeth were barred as he lunged for Hudson, tackling him into the grass and pelting him with his fists in an uncoordinated, undisciplined fit of rage as he screamed obscenities and curses. Hudson didn’t try and defend himself, taking hit after hit. Ben was sobbing by the time Monty pulled Ben off of him; face red and wet, little hiccups escaping his throat, and Hudson had wanted to die, truly, in that moment.

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this_, Hudson thought wildly, staring up at the night sky, hoping the void of space would swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to remember this night. 

Tears streaming down his face, Ben had promised Hudson that no matter where he went, he’d find and make Hudson regret the day he’d ever laid eyes on him.

Hudson wasn’t hiding; he never had any intention of doing so. The alternative was too frightening: the prospect of being abandoned or utterly forgotten; of Ben—_god-forbid_—moving on. That was just…unacceptable.

Unwarranted jealousy wrapped around Hudson like a coil and his stomach began to churn at the thought of someone else taking his place beside Ben. He couldn’t think about the possibility for too long; it was a bottomless pit of regret, uncertainty, and ire that if Hudson allowed himself, he’d fall in and sink until he couldn’t tell which way was up anymore.

Instead, Hudson held onto Ben’s promise to him—dreading and desperate for it all in the same breath. 

It was hard not to rush over and touch him. 

Hudson’s body longed to reach out, but he didn’t have that right anymore for all that he’d done to Ben’s family—to their organization.

With a sharp click, the lamp on the end table suddenly bathed Hudson’s living room in warm light, and there Ben sat, looking like a king on an ill-suited throne of faded black leather.

The sight of him alone landed like a gut punch and Hudson found himself short of breath.

Benjamin Dumont was still _devastating_—every inch of him. 

It was almost painful—the knowledge that Ben had absolutely, positively _ruined_ him. Hudson should’ve hated him—and maybe he had in the very beginning, though the feeling didn’t last long. The truth was, nobody had prepared Hudson for Ben in reality; the crooked, abashed curve of his mouth whenever he grinned, how he could be bold in one moment, yet demure and timid in the next. He was a whirlwind; a beautiful distraction that Hudson knew better than to indulge in. 

In the Dumont’s employ, it hadn’t just been the sex that Hudson enjoyed. He’d learned a lot about himself, like how much he enjoyed hurting bad people, and how he’d relished in the sick thrill of outsmarting and humiliating the police.

There was one truth however that stung more than the rest. It was how seamlessly Hudson had fit in with Ben and his ragtag crew. He’d belonged, like a piece without its puzzle, finally placed in the right slot. The knowledge burned because he’d never clicked like that with any of his peers on the force—the opposite actually; Hudson couldn’t stand them. 

Ben blinked, slow; his handsome face unreadable as he watched Hudson closely. It was a relief to see him until Hudson saw the gun resting casually on the arm of the recliner. Hudson eyed the gun for a prolonged moment before his gaze drifted back onto Ben, unbothered and unimpressed by the subtle threat. Maybe Hudson was foolish enough to believe Ben wouldn’t kill him—shoot him in the kneecap, sure—but take a gun to his head and pull the trigger? Nah. Ben wouldn’t do that no more than Hudson could. Ben was now imprinted within Hudson; engraved on his ribs, in his heart, and there was no simple, non-fatal way of tearing him out.

Hudson cleared his throat, licking at his too dry lips.

“Can I get you something to drink?” 

Hudson’s voice was subdued, a pale shadow compared to the brazen, smooth tones of the hot-shot New Englander he’d exaggerated in Dumont company. He shifted, uneasy on his feet, all too aware that his gun was a room away. Hudson wouldn’t use it, but the weight of a gun on his hip or in his hand had become a comfort.

“You don’t have anything that I like,” Ben answered, flat. His face was stoic, utterly unreadable, but those dark eyes burned and narrowed in on Hudson like his gaze alone could set him ablaze. “I already checked.”

Hudson winced and nodded his head absently. His mouth drew together in a pinched line, running his hand over his mouth in a gesture that betrayed his nerves. His knuckles were bruised and cracked from long hours at the gym throttling a punching bag until his wrappings where dotted with blood and his lungs burned. Sometimes, the simple act of beating the shit out of a bag was the only thing that made him feel any kind of sane.

“You look good,” Hudson said in a rush, working around the lump inside his throat. It made his words coarse and awkward. He coughed, trying to clear the block. “I uh—I was—worried there for a minute when you—”

It might have been the wrong thing to say as Hudson stared down the barrel of a .45. 

He’d been here before and he felt no fear, only a deep-seated disappointment in himself. He was a fool—an inadequately prepared fool so in love with Ben, and it took losing everything for Hudson to finally admit it.

“Stop. Talking.” Ben ordered coolly, but his hands were shaking in a manner that was telling. There was something almost electric about Ben, as if keeping still for more than a moment was an impossible feat for all the energy he had coursing through him. Ben’s leg bounced maniacally as he watched Hudson with a singular intent focus that made the back of Hudson’s neck prickle and the hairs on his arms raised on end. Ben had never looked at Hudson with such a cold, calculating intensity—not even when Hudson had first been introduced to the Dumont company and Ben, like the spoiled mob prince he was, regarded Hudson with nothing more than aloof distaste and a veiled hint of mockery behind his eyes, as if he’d seen something within Hudson and immediately decided he didn’t have a liking for it.

Of course, Hudson couldn’t have that—couldn’t have the boss’s son not like him—so he did one better; he made Ben fall for him. 

“I should’ve just shot you as soon as you walked in,” Ben scoffed, the corner of his mouth pulling up in distaste. He rose slowly from the chair, body tight and controlled; the gun held deceptively loose in his hand. “Would’ve saved me some time.”

Hudson had tried—he really had—to keep in the forefront of his mind all the reasons of why he shouldn’t indulge in such a pretty young thing. The fact that he was a cop sworn by oath to serve and protect should’ve been enough of a deterrent, but it had been hard not to let his eyes linger, and after a while, Hudson had stopped trying all together. He’d fallen into Ben and he’d done so without reservation.

“That suit looks pretty damn expensive,” Hudson said, “I know you aren’t hurting for cash, but you’ll definitely get blood on it if you treat my living room like your own personal shooting range.” He cut Ben a sharp grin, allowing the bravado he didn’t quite feel color his words. “Dry cleaning is expensive in this part of town.”

Ben’s frown deepened severely. “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”

Hudson shrugged.

“Clever enough—not that it’s ever done much for me.” Hudson stepped further into the room, encouraged only by the fact Ben hadn’t shot him yet.

Ben had spent the last couple of months rectifying the damage Hudson had caused; their territories needed to be corralled back in order, rivals who threatened Ben’s position needed to be disposed of, and business needed to resume as usual as income stagnated. Ben was in the big leagues now and that meant he had to be fearless, cruel, and cunning, letting everyone know that—even without his father—Ben wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.

The cocky, boyish, and impulsive Ben that Hudson had first met was only faintly recognizable in the man who stood before him. Ben displayed a confidence that seemed older than his twenty-three years. There was a self-assurance in the line of his shoulders; a weariness in the premature lines around the corners of his eyes; a cynical curve to his mouth that highlighted a scar that Hudson hadn’t seen before, that he hadn’t felt against his own lips. A cut that was too clean and too precise—like someone had—like someone—

Hudson’s breath caught. 

He jerked forward instinctively, needing to inspect the thin cut and demand the name of the suicidal bastard dumb enough to mark Ben. He reached out, thumb ready to brush over the scar, his panic and fury all one in the same. _What did you do_, on the tip of Hudson’s tongue, accusing, because Ben was too stubborn and prideful, and Hudson was scared for him, fearful that he’d fly too close to the sun and wouldn’t realize his wings had melted until it was too late.

Ben slapped Hudson’s hand away with a scoff, rolling his eyes. The rejection hurt, but what was more frustrating was how Ben didn’t meet Hudson’s imploring gaze. He drew away, putting distance between them both physically and emotionally. It hurt—it fucking _stung—_but it didn’t matter; what mattered was knowing Ben wasn’t deep in over his head. 

“Goddamn it Benji—”

“I had a debt—it’s been paid,” was all Ben gave in a means of explanation. “Leave it alone,” he said in a tone that meant the point wasn’t to be argued. Hudson wasn’t intimidated or impressed, but dropped the subject for now. If Ben wasn’t willing to tell Hudson the truth, he’d find out through other means. The informant Nico was the only person on the illicit side of Hudson’s former double-life that would still give him the time of day. Money was money and if Hudson had the cash, Nico would deliver the goods. The tricky part was going to be getting ahold of Nico, the ever-elusive bastard. He was like the wind; utterly impossible to catch.

Ben hummed as he roamed aimlessly around Hudson’s living room. 

There wasn’t much to see. 

Hudson had the necessities, all the things to make his apartment look like a home, but it had never felt like it. Not really. The only touch of personalization were the pictures he had up on his wall; the annual family summer trip where Hudson was sunburnt, grinning big and wide, arms around his sisters, gathering them close; Hudson’s high school graduation, the cap purposely crooked, dirty blond curls poking out every which way, his attention caught on something beyond the camera, expression thoughtful and contemplative; Hudson in his pressed academy blues, standing with his mom and dad on either side of him, his parents looking incredibly proud.

Ben stared at that picture for a long time.

Hudson took the moment to give him a good once over; his gaze was deliberate, knowing that he’d probably find a mixture of bruises, scraps, and cuts underneath Ben’s clothes. His stomach turned at the thought. He swallowed hard enough for his throat to audibly click. The sound was loud in the space of his apartment, emphasizing the heavy silence that hung thick and electric between them. 

“You’re a fucking cop,” Ben deadpanned, speaking the truth as it always was.

The tension exploded. 

He stalked closer towards Hudson, the soles of his shoes resonating solidly against the hardwood floor. “I still can’t fully wrap my head around it—not because I fell for it hook, line, and fucking sinker, but because you liked what we did.” Ben said accusingly, like he was daring Hudson to deny it. “You liked every aspect of being with me and you could’ve had it all—could’ve had _me_—but you pissed it down the drain only to be put on suspension for all your hard work.” Ben barked out a humorless laugh, clapping his hands together sardonically. “Congratulations, detective.”

Hudson tipped his head, jaw shifting. It was a sensitive subject; the stinging disappointment of having done his job perfectly and receiving skepticism and apprehension in return. In the end, no one trusted him. He deserved Ben’s scorn but that didn’t mean it was easy to take. 

“Fuck you, Ben.”

“Nah,” Ben said, dismissively. “Been there, done that.”

Everything felt hopeless then. More so than it ever had in the weeks before, like a bottomless hole had suddenly opened up and Hudson was falling with no end in sight. 

His desperation was almost tangible when he asked, “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“_What the hell was I supposed to do_?” Ben repeated, outraged. His anger was like a solar flare, so bright and burning Hudson wanted to look away, for it was painful staring at the phenomenon dead-on. “You were supposed to grow a pair and not betray your friends and family, you fucking coward.” Ben spat. “You gave it all up, and for what Hudson? I still don’t understand. You stopped being a cop a long time ago—you stopped _believing _in it. I know you did.”

Hudson’s mouth parted on a denial, to say that Ben was wrong, that he’d always had faith in the badge, but the rebuttal died on his tongue. 

“I had a job to do,” Hudson said, miserably. “What was I gonna do, say screw it and run away with you?” Hudson scoffed like the idea itself was preposterous, despite how many times he’d fantasized about doing just that. 

“Everything that matters in your life is in Chicago, Ben—you can’t just pick your shit up and leave.” Hudson stepped closer, hoping to bridge the gap between them as he spoke hard truths, as if closing the distance would make hearing them any easier.

“I can’t do that either. What would I even tell my parents—hell, my _sisters_ if I left the CPD? Fuck Ben, not to mention the goddamn CPD all on its own.” Hudson’s expression was pleading, willing Ben to see it from his perspective as he said, “Baby, the department doesn’t trust me as far as they can throw me. They know I got too close; they’re just deciding on how best to dispose of me of at this point.” Hudson reached out, clasping Ben’s hand in his, running the pad of his thumb along Ben’s knuckles. “If I left to be with you, they’d fucking _kill _me and they’d kill you solely because I—”

Hudson abruptly ended that sentence. He blanched, throat suddenly constricting around the unvoiced word that threatened to choke him. He closed his mouth with an audible snap, teeth clacking together hard enough for his molars to ache. Ben watched Hudson with a cold, faraway look; his mouth was severe, lips thinning with displeasure as he inhaled through his nose. He shook his head, huffing out a humorless chuckle that could have scorched the very ground he was standing on for how bitter the noise sounded.

Ben snatched his hand away from Hudson’s grip, fingers tightening in a fist like Ben was contemplating rearing back and decking Hudson square in the nose. He wouldn’t dodge if Ben decided to. It was the least he could do.

“My god,” Ben muttered. “Do you hear the shit coming out of your mouth? I’m not someone who needs protecting Hudson—especially from you.” Ben jeered. “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very fucking much you patronizing asshole.” He turned away from Hudson, frustration coloring every line and curve of his body.

“You act like I haven’t been embedded in this business since I was old enough to walk—old enough to understand death as it truly is.” Ben’s words were resolute and unwavering as he declared, “I’m not scared—I’ve never been scared—because death will come for us one way or another. I _choose_ to chase life, to cherish all of its moments solely because of that very reason. I wanted that with you. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but you’re afraid—” Ben swallowed, heavy. His next words were shaky, wobbling off his tongue, wounded and hurt. “You’re _terrified_.” 

Hudson hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled, lungs shuddering. There was a fine tremor running throughout his entire body; it was faint but unmistakably there. He ran his hands through his hair to try and stem the trembling. 

“I’m not terrified of being with you,” Hudson whispered, hoarse. “Fuck Ben, you’re _everything_. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I just—” he felt the block in his throat again, making his words rough. “I—I’m terrified of losing you. I can’t be with you because I know I’ll lose you just as quick,” Hudson’s voice broke. He sought Ben’s gaze, needing him to see everything he couldn’t say, “And I can’t—I can’t fucking do that.”

It was the closest Hudson had ever come to saying it; his truth. The insinuation hung heavily between them.

“So, what?” Ben began, exacerbated. “You plan on not fighting for us—for me—because you can’t handle the prospect of loss, of losing me?” Ben took a step closer, movements jerky as if he was resisting the urge to reach out and shake some sense into Hudson. “No one can promise you forever, Hudson. Grow the fuck up.”

Hudson was turning 31 in November; leave it to some pompous, hothead prick six years his junior to tell _him_ to grow the fuck up. Fucking hilarious.

“Why don’t you get your head out of your ass and see shit for how it is—not how you want it!” Hudson shouted, frustrated that Ben wasn’t trying to understanding his point. It wasn’t Ben’s death that Hudson necessarily feared—it was Hudson being the cause—the reason he wouldn’t wake up in the morning. “You’re always rushing into things—trying to fight them—consequences be damned, right Ben? Your pops couldn’t find the time to teach you that lesson, huh?”

It was a low blow, but Hudson couldn’t help himself. The words fell out of his mouth like word vomit. He regretted them the moment they left the tip of his tongue, but not enough to take them back and try to make amends.

Ben worked his jaw subtly side to side, a habit he exhibited when he wanted to temper his anger and keep a cool head. He was learning. Good for him. Too bad Hudson wanted to poke at that sleeping beast, rouse it from the depths to spur on his own.

“It’s better than being a coward who knows what he wants, but doesn’t have the courage to take it, right Hudson?” Ben asked. “That police captain has you leashed tight around the balls, doesn’t he? I was wondering where they disappeared to, but maybe they’ve already shriveled up.” 

Hudson could’ve redirected the conversation, should’ve been the mature one and taken the high route, but it was easier to let all the tumultuous feelings spill out like black, inky poison, viscous and corroding between them.

It was easier than addressing their relationship and the lies it had been built upon; it was easier than admitting that they still cared about one another; and it was easier than wondering where they’d go from here.

Hudson leered at Ben as he cupped and gave himself a soft squeeze. “Oh, they’re still there, baby. You can get down on your knees and see for yourself. You were a big fan if I remember correctly.” 

Ben sneered, looking absolutely livid. “God, you’re disgusting.” 

Hudson hummed in agreement and grinned broadly.

“Does it ache still?” Hudson asked, quiet and smug, as if they were sharing a secret. “Do you think you can get it out?”

“It’s bold of you to assume aches can’t be soothed.” Ben huffed, amused, then continued; “Do you think I just pined away for you, day and night? That my life revolved around the hope of when you’d come back to me?” He shook his head, incredulous at Hudson's own naivety. “Oh, I was up most nights, but I was hardly aching.” Ben smiled then, crooked, sharp, and cruel. “Well, let me take that back…”

The implication had something ugly settle heavily in Hudson’s gut. He’d never been the jealous type, but Ben managed to rouse various emotions he’d thought himself above.

Hudson licked over his teeth in a slow sweep.

“That your way of trying to stick it to me?” Hudson asked, voice low. “If you got something to say Dumont, fucking say it. Enough with this coy back and forth shit.” Hudson said, eyes narrowing as he stalked closer, his gait purposeful and intent. Ben was taller than Hudson, but he was broader; his biceps strained against the sleeves of his cotton t-shirt as he invaded Ben’s space unapologetically. He came close enough to hear Ben’s intake of breath, to see his nostrils flare as he bowed up, features set with distain.

“When you left, the sheets still smelled like you,” Ben began, quiet. “I went out and I met two guys who I brought back to my bed—_our_ bed—and I fucked them until I got the smell of you out.”

The sharpness of those words twisted deep and true, rearranging Hudson’s insides. His breath caught, choking him with a gold ball sized lump as his eyes began to burn.

Ben’s eyes gleamed, savoring the distress. He shifted his body closer, leaning down and caressing Hudson’s cheek with his own in a mockery of intimacy. He spoke softly in Hudson’s ear and his traitorous body ached with the closeness despite the cruelty of Ben’s words and how sweet he delivered them.

“They took turns Hudson,” Ben said sensuously. His hand cradled the back of Hudson’s neck, anchoring him to the moment lest he run away from the visuals that were conjuring bright and vivid in the dark parts of his mind. “I let them use my ass, my mouth—any part of me they wanted—and they’d made me feel _so_ good.” Ben’s fingers tangled themselves in the hairs at Hudson’s nape, tugging his head back roughly by the roots, making Hudson hiss. His lips came to hover over Hudson’s own, breath hot as he whispered into his mouth; “By the time they were done with me, you weren’t even an afterthought.”

It was impossible not to imagine every detail, even when everything in his body screamed and pleaded with Hudson not to. He blinked rapidly, clearing his throat repeatedly until it felt like he could speak without his voice trembling.

It was easier to get angry instead.

“Slut,” Hudson spat, grabbing at Ben’s waist, jerking him close and digging his nails in. Their bodies met in a crash and grind; Ben’s front flush with Hudson’s hips and chest, and despite the turbulent tumble of Hudson’s wild thoughts, it was impossible for his body not to react to how Ben’s lips parted on a soft gasp, how his back arched, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. He looked drunk with it already. 

“Did you like it more than my hands on you?” Hudson asked, rhetorical. In demonstration, his hands slid around Ben’s waist, light and teasing, fingers brushing along the sensitive dip at the small of his back. Ben visibly shuttered, making a soft noise in his throat as he swayed heavily in Hudson’s arms. Ben realized soon after what he’d given away in that moment, his entire body going stiff before the barrel of the gun pressed right below Hudson’s ribs. Ben was breathing hard, those dark, bottomless eyes wild, almost daring Hudson to push him over that edge.

Hudson grinned and licked along his bottom lip, hard up from how the slide of his tongue captured Ben’s attention. It was unhealthy; the ways in which Hudson wanted him.

“Is it easier? Pretending like you aren’t still mine?” Hudson mocked. With quick fingers Hudson untucked Ben’s dress shirt from his pants, biting down on his own lip when his fingertips touched warm, sun-kissed skin. His palm swept along the arch of Ben’s spine, languid and deliberate, chuckling knowingly when Ben’s breath began to come quick as his fingers drew nonsensical patterns over his skin. 

“Yeah,” Hudson breathed, arrogant and cocksure. “You’re still mine aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked in a closed-lipped smile, those dark eyes narrowing as he dragged the barrel of the gun down Hudson’s side in an aloof, yet calculated manner that made his cock thicken despite the obvious hazard Ben posed. He wasn’t the only one affected by their sudden proximity; Hudson felt the hard heat of Ben against his hip, straining through his slacks. The sensation made him burn white-hot, his body throbbing in tandem with his heartbeat, a heavy resounding thud he could hear in his ears. 

God, he’d missed Ben so much. Hudson ached with the overwhelming need to just lay him out and spend the night making him writhe, moan, and beg until he’d had his fill.

There was one memory in particular that Hudson was incredibly fond of: Ben in his lap, his head thrown back in bliss; Hudson bouncing him on his cock; Ben’s red plush mouth parting around a desperate stream of _love yous _that echoed Hudson’s jackhammering thrusts. 

Hudson wanted that now; he wanted Ben sweet and messy and unashamed in how he expressed his pleasure. He wanted the slow, syrupy smiles Ben would gift whenever Hudson was making him feel good. He wanted him bossy and demanding—telling Hudson where to touch him and exactly how to do it. He wanted him pliant and submissive—easily following Hudson’s instructions, allowing himself to be handled and controlled. 

Hudson’s hands slid over the generous curve of Ben’s ass; his satisfaction palpable when his hands cupped the perfect weight of it. Hudson hummed deep in his throat, giving his handfuls a squeeze.

Ben chuckled at Hudson’s predictability, but he knew how ridiculous his ass was and how much Hudson loved dotting it with attention. He nipped at Ben’s jaw, alternating between squeezing and pulling apart his cheeks until his fingers dipped and rubbed tentatively over Ben’s clothed asshole. Inhaling sharply, Ben begrudgingly arched into Hudson’s touch, hips slowly circling into the pressure of Hudson’s fingertips, always ready for his cock. 

Ben’s lips brushed against Hudson’s ear, tongue peeking out to tease the lobe, making Hudson shiver all the way down to his toes.

“I didn’t feel like yours when I was getting my back blown out and my face fucked,” Ben breathed, rearing his head back with a smug, self-satisfying leer. The hit landed devastatingly like expected. Hudson had to fight not to recoil at the image like Ben wanted him too. Instead his mouth pinched with displeasure, eyes narrowing at Ben’s derisive gaze.

“You’re a petty bitch.”

Ben barked out a laugh, delighted, like he’d missed this. He wrapped his arms around Hudson’s shoulders, the gun held loosely in his hand, knocking it casually against Hudson’s back like he was tapping out a tune. He angled his head down, flicking his tongue along the bow of Hudson’s lips, dirty and hot.

Ben whispered on Hudson’s parted lips, soft, “Takes one to know one.”

_God_, Hudson thought, and not for the first time as he reared up and kissed Ben with a yearning and desperation so overwhelming that Hudson sobbed with relief when Ben responded with the same kind of intensity, like he’d die without this too.

They should’ve fucking known he’d fall in love with Ben. They should have_ known_.


	2. Chapter 2

It had always felt inevitable, from that first moment Hudson and Ben had met, that they would fall into bed together. 

Ill-advised as the idea was, Hudson had decided early on that he wouldn’t actively pursue the temptation, only humor it. He was getting older and having the attention of a pretty young thing like Ben was addicting, if not a little confidence boosting. 

If anything came of it, that was another matter entirely. 

Just as it felt inevitable then, it felt undeniable now—their connection. Hudson couldn’t turn a blind-eye to what he’d help cultivate and encourage. Somewhere in between, believing he had all the control and foresight, Ben had unraveled him like a bow.

It was the kind of undoing that had his heart beating twice as fast with anticipation; that had his hair standing on end with the energy that pulsed between them. They were like suns orbiting each other, circling closer and closer, unable to resist the pull that threatened destruction, but was no less enticing because of it. 

Hudson kissed Ben like he needed the taste of his mouth to survive. He was greedy and aggressive, biting at Ben’s lips and sliding his tongue into his gasping mouth, filling him. 

Ben pushed against Hudson’s body, testing his give; he had never allowed Hudson to push him around easily. Ben needed to be held down; needed a rough hand either in his hair or on his throat to get him to submit. It made the carnal parts of Hudson throb with want and desire; his thoughts a constant stream of _take,_ _need_, and _fuck_. He had never wanted someone with this kind of manic ferocity; had never wanted to crawl so deep inside a person and carve out a place for himself to thrive and conquer. It frightened him at times—the man who’d come to hold his heart in his hands, and how Hudson had willingly let him.

Hudson pushed back against Ben’s own will with force, neck straining to keep upright as they kissed. They were two immovable objects that refused to budge in either direction, creating heat and energy where they met in the middle.

Ben shoved Hudson back onto the sofa hard enough for the ends to scrape against the hardwood floor. Hudson’s breath came out in a rush as he fell back, bouncing against the cushions. He squirmed underneath Ben’s gaze and spread his legs wide, hips tilting forward, the bulge in his gray sweats obscene. Ben chuckled darkly; the sound filthy. It inspired sordid flashes of skin on skin; sticky, wet and messy. 

Ben smoothly shrugged his jacket off wide shoulders and down his broad back in a sensuous slide. He neatly laid the jacket along the far end of the couch, brushing his fingers against Hudson’s neck when he pulled back. Hudson chased after him with a playful nip of his teeth, eyes hot as he stared up at Ben beneath the fall of his lashes.

“I have a bed for this,” Hudson breathed, reaching up and running his hands along the back of Ben’s thighs as long, lovely fingers began unbuckling Ben’s belt, slowly pulling the material through the loops. Hudson’s mouth watered, urging Ben closer. He felt the powerful cord of his hamstrings tense and shift under his touch as Ben swayed into the space between his legs.

Jesus, what those thighs did to him.

“You don’t deserve me in your bed,” Ben replied with a cool, clipped tone. He pulled on his belt with a rough tug; the end snapping dangerously close to Hudson’s face. Ben carelessly tossed the belt somewhere behind him and the buckle clattered against the hardwood floor in a noisy clang. Hudson inwardly winced. He’d definitely receive a noise complaint tomorrow.

In a move that could only be described as cruel, Ben cupped his cock and gave himself a firm squeeze. His lips parted on a pleased sigh as he held himself in hand, tongue swiping over his plump bottom lip in a provocative pass. He massaged his cock through his pants, head lolling back onto his shoulders, highlighting the elegant arch of his neck. 

Hudson could’ve sat there and watched Ben pleasure himself for hours, but then Ben _moaned_.

Hudson cursed under his breath, batting Ben’s hand away and pulling him close. He mouthed along the clothed arch of Ben’s cock with a wet, eager mouth, needing to feel the width of him stretching at the corners.

“Oh fuck,” Ben groaned, words rough in his throat. His hand enclosed on the back of Hudson’s neck, squeezing like he needed the contact for support. He slid his fingers into the thick of Hudson’s hair and thrust into the press of his warm mouth. “Get my cock out,” Ben said, shaky, one octave away from desperate, just how Hudson liked him. “C’mon,” he tugged at Hudson’s hair, impatient, like the spoiled brat he was. “Suck me.”

Hudson didn’t have to be told twice. His hands moved with only a slight tremor as he unbuttoned Ben’s pants and unzipped his fly, pulling his boxer briefs down to rest comfortably below his balls. His cock was flushed pink, darker at the tip where he pulled back that extra bit of skin to reveal the pretty head of Ben’s cock. And it was pretty—Ben’s dick—like everything else about him. He licked lips, mouth suddenly salivating with the need to have Ben’s cock weighing down his tongue. He wouldn’t give into that desire just yet; he needed something from Ben first—something not even he could quite identify or mold in his mind.

Fist slowly pumping Ben’s cock from root to tip, Hudson familiarize himself with the weight and feel of Ben in his hand. He kissed at Ben’s stomach while his hand explored, rucking up Ben’s shirt. Hudson kept his touches light and teasing, smiling whenever Ben jerked or his breath came out in a quiet hiss. He smelled good—_clean_—like he’d showered and dressed up for Hudson before coming to his place. The thought made his ego swell. Hudson grinned as he thumbed over the head delicately, pressing the pad of his thumb over the slit and circling in a way he knew made Ben go weak in the knees.

It made him feel powerful and whole; the latter was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time and he chased after that feeling. 

“Is this what I deserve?” Hudson asked, husky, lids heavy.

“You deserve to choke on it for all I—oh _fuck yes_,” Ben moaned as Hudson engulfed the head of his cock, swirling his tongue against the tip where Ben was most sensitive. He flattened his tongue and molded it along the underside of Ben’s cock and took him in deeper. His fingers circled the thick base, working up to a rhythm that had his head bobbing enthusiastically, mouth pliant and plush as he took in more and more of that thick cock.

God, he’d missed this; the weight of Ben in his mouth, how he filled Hudson’s senses with nothing but his touch, taste, and smell. His desire was a raging fire, being stoked to new heights, burning hotter and brighter. His hands grasped Ben’s ass as he guided the erotic rock of his hips, urging Ben to use his mouth to his fill.

_Give me your anger, _Hudson’s eyes said as he peered up at Ben’s flushed face. _I want it. I can handle it. _

Ben didn’t wait to ask if he was sure. The stance of his legs widened and his hand found purchase on the back of Hudson’s head, holding him steady as Ben began thrusting his hips, working up to a pace that had the head of his cock bumping against the back of Hudson’s throat, making him gag and his eyes water. It wasn’t often that he allowed someone to use him like this, but Hudson took it like a champ. He stared Ben down, determined and hot, almost daring him to go harder. 

“_Jesus Christ_,” Ben wheezed, breath leaving him in shutters. His eyes were burning under heavy lids; flush reddening his cheeks and moving down his neck to settle below his shoulders. “Oh god—watching you take it.” Ben’s chest heaved with his rapid breaths. “Gonna make you fucking—gonna make you—oh _fuck_—” Ben broke off in a growl, hoisting his foot up beside Hudson on the couch, using the bend in his leg to roll his hips powerfully, fucking Hudson’s mouth like it was nothing more than a toy.

Hudson gave one last parting squeeze to Ben’s ass before the pads of his fingers dipped in-between his cheeks. Ben’s skin was smooth where Hudson’s fingers caressed over his hole. He’d never admit to it, but Hudson knew Ben either shaved or waxed; he was a man with a forest of hair underneath his arms but very little elsewhere. 

His fingers swirled around Ben’s hole before tentatively pushing against his opening. Hudson perked in surprise as his fingers met little resistance, dipping into warm wetness. He went red-hot at the implication of what that meant; the suggestion settling hot and heavy in Hudson’s gut. Ben’s hips stuttered in their demanding rhythm, faltering as Hudson began shallowly thrusting his middle finger in short, unsatisfying bursts. He had to repress his own amused chuckle as Ben groaned in frustration when the deliberate cant of his hips didn’t allow for Hudson’s finger to sink in deeper.

Hudson pulled his mouth off Ben, lips dragging slowly along his length, savoring the smooth feel of him. He knocked his jaw from side to side, working out the tenderness in his mandible. 

He grinned at how closely Ben was watching at him; how his eyes dipped and lingered on Hudson’s lips, red, wet, and swollen. He wanted that attention all the time.

“You got ready for me, baby?” Hudson said, voice rough; lips mouthing against the silky skin of Ben’s hard cock. “Do you need me in there? God knows I wanna be in there—fucking that perfect ass open on my cock all night long.” Ben gasped brokenly as Hudson pushed an additional finger inside, fucking him with steady, profound strokes that had Ben pushing back, riding his hand with eager desperation. “Let me get in there, baby.”

It was gorgeous how Ben’s head rolled back onto his shoulders, lashes fluttered closed and his mouth opened around soft, greedy noises whenever Hudson screwed his fingers in, but deliberately avoided his prostate. 

“Beg me for it,” Ben panted, weakly.

If that’s what he needed from Hudson, he’d plead until his voice went raw. 

“Please baby, let me get my dick in that ass—let me make you come,” Hudson urged. He pulled at Ben’s clothes with frenzied abandon. It was a need that demanded fulfilling; feeling Ben bare against him.

Ben had managed to kick off his shoes and wrestle his pants down his legs, but kept on his knee length socks. He stood before Hudson, proud and obscene. Hudson took a moment to admire the smooth plains of Ben’s chest; his waist that tapered into a subtle curve that drove Hudson wild for how broad he was everywhere else; the defined v-cut of his hips, descending into the groomed curls at the apex of his thighs. Hudson’s eyes rested heavily on Ben’s cock, feeling the phantom weight of it on his tongue again. He breathed in deep, reaching out and placing his hands tentatively on Ben’s waist to bring him close. 

“How do you want me, baby?”

“Like this,” Ben said, slinking down slowly onto Hudson’s lap, taking care to rub every inch of his warm body along Hudson’s own in a slow, sensual slide. Shivers echoed down Hudson’s body like waves, starting out the roots of his hair and ending at the tips of his toes. It was already too much. Hudson bit at his lip when Ben settled heavily in Hudson’s lap, cock jerking against Ben’s thigh. “I want you just like this.”

Ben reached back and circled Hudson’s cock with his hand, giving him a few languid strokes before he lined Hudson up to press against his slick, puffy entrance. Hudson inhaled sharply through his nose, hips thrusting up in a pure, instinctual impulse despite the thoughts racing through his head—like needing to find a condom. That was the smart, responsible thing to do, but neither of them voiced a concern, especially not when Ben began pressing down, taking in Hudson’s cock inch by inch.

“Oh fuck,” Hudson breathed. He felt weak—overcome. His head fell back to rest against the edge of the couch, mouth parting on a soundless moan when Ben ground his hips in a tight circle. He squeezed Ben’s hips, repressing the urge to drag him down and just—_fuck_. 

God, he felt so fucking good.

“You look high,” Ben whispered; by the light tilt in his tone, it was clear that he was amused. “You need it bad, don’t you?” He rocked his hips on the base of Hudson’s cock, moving him inside, letting him feel every ripple and squeeze.

Hudson sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. His face was so hot. 

“Fuck, you’re tense,” Ben remarked, snickering. He ran warm hands along Hudson’s shoulders, the pads of his fingers tracing his collarbones before spreading along the column of his neck, feeling his pulse throb. “How long has it been, huh, since you got your cock wet? Are you gonna blow the moment I start moving?”

Hudson grit his teeth.

“You’re sure talkin’ a lot.”

Ben hummed, acquiescent. He placed his hands on either side of Hudson’s body, rising on his haunches, using the couch cushions for leverage to circle his hips powerfully, crowding Hudson with his bulk.

“Then make me speechless,” Ben dared. His smirk was like an atomic bomb—utterly devastating. “You’re acting like you didn’t just beg me to sit on your dick. Where’s the goddamn initiative?” Ben seized Hudson’s jaw, jerking his chin up like a disobedient child, blunt nails digging into his stubble rough skin.

“Hurry up, before I change my mind and find someone who’s up for the task.” He released Hudson’s chin with a dismissive shove. “And believe me, there’s a generous few who’d drop everything to get in my ass.”

Hudson rolled his mandible, fixating on the rising frustration inside of him, rather than the sensations spurred from the man seated on his cock. He decided to push past Ben’s comments about finding other men to fuck. 

“You weren’t ever this bitchy when we were going at it every-which-way from Sunday,” Hudson complained. “Jesus Christ—whoever’s been giving it to you hasn’t been giving it good, have they baby?”

In a blur of motion, Hudson reached out and flipped their positions so that Ben was underneath him and Hudson hovered above. It wasn’t shocking how readily Ben went. His eyes went molten as he braced his hands against any part of the couch he could reach, lip pulled between his teeth, giddy for what was to come.

“You know what your problem is?” Hudson asked, low. “You’re too damn stubborn Ben; you can never let go.” His lips found the sensitive skin on Ben’s neck, nipping and licking at that spot beneath his ear that made him go wild. Ben gasped, the sound staccatoed with how his body trembled in response. “You need someone to not give you a choice--to get you out of your head.” Ben cursed when Hudson crudely spread his legs wide, bending his knees and raising his ass so that his hole was on display. The little pucker was flushed and invitingly puffy, and Ben reached down to tease along his rim. The pads of his fingers rubbed in playful circles before lightly tapping at his hole, flirting with the idea of pushing his fingers in deep.

“The truth is; you _need_ a big, fat cock to split you wide open and pound this ass, don’t you?”

“_Fuck_,” Ben cursed as his body jerked in anticipation. His hole clenched, desperate for something to stretch it; his eyes fluttered closed, mouth parting on a moan that spoke to Ben’s need and impatience. God, he sounded wrecked already. Hudson wanted him screaming.

He angled Ben’s body to the straining point, pressing his thighs up and back; it was a position Hudson knew Ben could handle. In the past, some of their antics had gotten pretty athletic; moments where the bed had begged for mercy and received none.

Hudson’s lungs shuttered out a breath as he began running the silky skin back and forth in a maddening press, teasing the head of his cock against Ben’s fluttering rim. Hudson lingered, basking in that intense sensation that had them groaning too loudly in the quiet of his apartment; the neighbors would probably file a noise complaint in the morning.

They both became transfixed with the roll of Hudson’s hips, moving in slow undulations as the slick of their arousals pooled, wet and sticky, between them. Ben tried arching his hips, eager for Hudson to finally slip in and fill him, whining high in his throat with frustration when his efforts continued to remain fruitless.

“Yeah, baby,” Hudson breathed, enlivened. “C’mon, tell me how badly you need that ass filled and I’m all yours.”

Ben huffed. He looked adorably miffed by the request.

“You’re already mine, fucker.”

Hudson smiled, despite himself. He didn’t deny that truth. 

“Then _tell_ me—c’mon.” He pushed the tip of his cock into Ben’s body, just enough for him to anticipate that stretch he utterly craved and firmly held Ben down as he did it, so that he wouldn’t be able to arch up for more. He allowed Ben to feel that thickness before he took it away entirely, cruel and callous in the same breath. 

The sound that came out of Ben’s mouth was absolutely feral with want. He looked ready to pull at his hair or, more realistically, bite out Hudson’s throat.

“Jesus Christ--just fuck me,” Ben demanded, eyes flashing like the glint of a sharp knife. “I fucking want it, so stop being a difficult motherfucker—pretending like you aren’t dying to come in my ass.” He knocked his ankle against Hudson’s temple, urging him on. 

Hudson couldn’t help but laugh; he tried to imagine what he must’ve looked like, staring so fondly at Ben like he was. It felt painfully obvious at that moment, the truth of what he couldn’t say out loud. A truth that had condemned him. 

_You should hate this man_, a voice not unlike his own, whispered in some deep dark chasm of Hudson’s subconscious. _In a way, you do. You hate him because of what he makes you feel._

Fingers carded through Hudson’s hair, gently seeking his attention, bringing him back into the moment; how perfect their bodies felt pressed together; how their breath pushed and pulled until they fell into the same rhythm. Ben’s voice went sweet—_cajoling_—as he said, “C’mon Hudson; please baby—give me what I came here for.”

It was the easiest thing to do; to give in and sink deep into Ben’s body. It didn’t seem to matter much at that moment that he was being beguiled into giving Ben what he wanted, especially when he needed this just as much.

Hudson didn’t waste time. He re-adjusted his hold on Ben’s thighs, pushing at him so that his knees almost touched the back of the couch, and began thrusting. It was deep and dirty; the downwards stroke of Hudson’s cock, filling Ben to the brim. Ben ignited like a match thrown into a sea of translucent lighter fluid. His flush deepened and bled down to his shoulders; his mouth parted on moans that died miserably on his tongue as Hudson pumped his hips.

Ben smiled around soft, decadent sounds even as his body crumbed from the pleasure; his smiles were dreamy, little indulgent things that Ben would gift, slow and lazy, like he was thanking Hudson for fucking him so good.

“God,” Ben groaned, working through the wetness in his throat. He gargled on it when Hudson went faster, his hips slamming against Ben’s ass with an audible slap, only pausing to grind deep inside of him and overwhelm that bundle of nerves that lit Ben up like a firework. Ben jerked with a surprised shout, eyes widening in shock as his hard cock smacked against his abs and leaked obscenely onto his stomach. 

“Holy shit,” Ben shouted, voice cracking. 

Overcome, Ben braced his hands against the couch, disturbing the cushions as he tried to push back onto Hudson’s cock.

“Feels good?” Hudson asked, panting, unable to bite back his own satisfied smirk. 

“Fuck, yes,” Ben breathed, almost like a prayer. His eyes rolled back as he basked in the bliss found behind closed lids. Hudson admired the freckles and sun spots that irregularly peppered Ben’s cheeks and nose; he continued to resist the urge to press his lips to each and every one. It didn’t feel appropriate; like showing up to a basketball match wearing dress shoes. 

Hudson quickly shuttered his expression when Ben opened his eyes and caught Hudson’s own with a challenge.

“I’m gonna need you to put your back into it.” 

Hudson snorted, his brow arching incredulously. 

“What’s wrong with how I’m giving it? Not enough for you?” Hudson asked playfully, smirk flirting at the corner of his lips. He slowed to an unhurried roll of his hips that maddingly avoided Ben’s prostate. Ben cursed in frustration when his continuous attempts to quicken the pace was thwarted by how high Hudson elevated his hips, holding him immobile. 

“You know I’m greedy,” Ben whispered in answer. He licked over his lips; the teasing flash of his tongue hypnotizing. “You have such a big fucking dick—I think I forgot just how big you are inside of me; how much space you take up…” Ben’s thoughts drifted as he squeezed around Hudson’s cock, mouth falling open on a pleased sigh. “God, there’s hardly any room--Hudson, you go so fucking _deep _in me, baby.” Hudson grit his teeth against a groan as pure masculine pride surged through him; that it was _Hudson’s_ dick Ben was struggling to take.

“I can feel your cock all the way up in the back of my throat, and it feels so fucking good. _Fuck_, just look at me,” Ben loosely circled his own cock, stroking up his length and looking like every bit of a filthy wet dream, “you got me so wet for you.”

If Hudson were a musical instrument, Ben had mastered his strings long ago. Hudson would bend even when he knew he was being played. That didn’t mean Hudson wouldn’t let Ben stew in his own anticipation until his eyes went crossed. 

Hudson pulled out until only the head of his cock flared Ben’s hole. He hungrily devoured how Ben’s expression went soft as Hudson kept them in that moment of baited breath until it felt like he’d go positively insane if he didn’t move. Their eyes held as Hudson slammed back in and every atom in his body ignited.

He wasn’t going to last long. 

“Hold these back for me,” Hudson demanded between his teeth, squeezing at Ben’s thick thighs. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck yes,” Ben moaned knowingly, looking so eager for it.

He quickly hooked his fingers on the underside of his knees and pulled, spreading his legs and tilting his hips. Hudson’s breath left him in an awed exhale that shook his entire body in shutters. He leaned back to admire Ben’s striking body; he was solid, built like a football player, while also being incredibly limber.

Hudson gripped the edge of the couch for leverage as he began pounding Ben down into the couch cushions, putting every muscle to work. He wanted to feel that sore ache in his body for days.

“_Yes_,” Ben hissed, throwing his head back. “Tear it up, baby. Get that dick deep.”

The legs of the couch began scraping against the hardwood floor, but Hudson didn’t care; he needed this fix after weeks of nothing—he’d only stop if his heart gave out. 

Each moan sounded shocked out of Ben’s system like he was stunned, all over again, by how good they managed to fit together.

A potent mixture of desire, lust, and frustration transformed their coupling into something carnal. Hudson growled, tangling his fingers into Ben’s hair and pulling him in close by the roots until their mouths were inches apart, tasting each other’s air.

“Those twins fuck you this good?” Hudson’s voice went dark and husky. “Were their cocks as big as mine?” His thrusts were brutal, punishing in their rhythm as he nailed Ben’s prostate. His hair hung curled and damp about his face as his teeth bared from the effort. 

Ben’s eyes rolled up into his head but his crazed, fucked-out smile remained as he was rammed over and over. The tendons in the apex of Ben’s thighs stood out in perfect relief against his skin as he tried to spread his legs even wider to receive Hudson’s cock.

“They weren’t—_ahhh_—twins—_right there_—oh god, right there…” Ben whimpered as Hudson assaulted that agonizing place inside of him.

“Touch yourself,” Hudson snarled. He was almost at his own limit. “Put your hand on that greedy fucking cock and come.”

A litany of curses spilled from Ben’s mouth as he hurriedly circled a shaking hand around his dick. Ben’s movements were clumsy and uncoordinated before he began pumping his length in firm, rough strokes, his hand a blur. Ben’s eyes were bright and fierce as he gasped and moaned shamelessly, his whole body like a live wire, pulsing and throbbing in tandem as he was pumped full of a sensation that he couldn’t contain.

“I’m gonna come,” Ben whispered desperately, like it was a secret.

Ben’s undulated in powerful waves, moaning Hudson’s praises until his body jerked, his breath caught, and his toes painfully curled. Ben came with an agonizing shout, spurting all over his tensed abs and chest, dusting a peaked, rosy nipple in the mess. Hudson’s watched, utterly rapt, feeling the tell-tell sensation build up in his balls at the sight. 

Ben tightened up so good on Hudson’s cock that it was almost hard to move, but he persisted, exploiting that spot that had Ben going absolutely wild for it, hands scrambling to find any kind of purchase that would ground him.

“Where do you want it?” Hudson grunted, rhythm faltering. He was so close. 

Ben groaned like he wanted Hudson’s come everywhere, and picking just one place was a travesty.

“In me,” Ben quickly decided, biting at his lip like he couldn’t wait. Fingernails bit into Hudson’s sides, sliding down his flank until Ben’s hands gripped the flexing muscles of Hudson’s ass and squeezed, pulling him in greedily. “_God_, in me. Get that nut in deep.”

It didn’t take much after that—not when Ben looked so desperate, so eager to receive him. He came with a growl caught halfway inside his throat, jaw clenched so tight his molars ached, and his heart threatening to jump right out of his rib cage. The sensation was reminiscent of being punched in the gut and took his breath away just as quickly. He wheezed out an exhale when he realized he’d pass out no sooner if he continued holding his breath. 

He sank down onto Ben, covering his body like a blanket, needing to feel every inch of him pressed against his skin as he came down from such tremendous heights. He buried his face in the crook of Ben’s neck and hid there like a child not wanting to be found; circling his arms around the other man and squeezing like they could become one through physical force alone.

_Please don’t go,_ Hudson wanted to beg. _Please don’t leave me. I need you so much. _

Hudson did not say this. Hudson did not say anything.

In his heart of hearts, Hudson had always known the truth of their fates and their roles in each other lives; it had never promised or guaranteed a happy ending. They were only biding time, stealing away another moment that they’d both come to regret when reality came rushing back in full force.

This knowledge didn’t make the truth hurt any less—quite the opposite.

There was a slight tremble in Ben’s hands as he caressed Hudson with a care that wasn’t deserved. His fingers delicately swept up Hudson’s back, and then began tracing whimsical patterns over his nape until the movement ceased.

Ben hadn’t spoken a word, but his request was loud and clear.

Hudson surfaced from his hiding spot, lifting himself onto his elbows where he took his time cataloging every feature of Ben’s handsome face, committing the moment to another memory he’d lose himself in. He leaned down, hesitant, eyes searching Ben’s face as he awaited permission for the privilege he could no longer claim.

An unsteady exhale rattled Ben’s chest as he nodded absentmindedly, almost as if he was giving himself permission to partake in this indulgence. Ben’s palms gently cupped Hudson’s stubble rough cheeks as he rose to catch his lips. He kissed Hudson like he was fragile—something easily breakable—something once cherished. Desperation surged between them, but it was different from the all-consuming inferno that had engulfed them earlier in a blaze of lust and hunger. This kiss more resembled the last burst of a dwindling fire until only ashes remained.

Ben’s fingers sank deep into Hudson’s sweat damp curls as their tongues rolled together; the taste of him bittersweet. He swept Hudson’s hair off his forehead, tucked the strands behind his ears, and then traced over the protruding curves. Ben pulled at them affectionately, pinching the lobes like his ears were endearing and not a simple eyesore. They jutted out in a way Hudson had always been self-conscious about, growing up. He’d been a lanky teenager; his hands, feet, and ears too big for his growing body. Ear muffs, they’d called him.

Breaking the kiss, Hudson loudly cleared the lump stuck in his throat and was thankful when Ben continued to touch him without saying a word. He ignored the burn in his eyes as he peppered Ben’s jaw with open mouth kisses. They remained intimately intertwined, huddled on a couch that was barely big enough to comfortably hold _one _man their size. The discomfort that plagued Hudson’s lower back didn’t matter—he just didn’t want to be the one to break the spell and find himself cuddling a rotten pumpkin instead of a prince.

It was a futile effort. There were no happily ever afters.

Hudson was somber as Ben became passive and then eventually eased out from underneath him, refusing to meet his pleading gaze. There were no more kisses or touches; no soft sweet nothings spoken against his ear. Just. Nothing. 

The air conditioner had kicked on a while ago and with the sweat cooling on his skin, Hudson was freezing. He made no move to get up and dress. He didn’t see the point.

Ben was efficient and economic as he redressed and rebuilt himself into the young, up and coming crime boss that he’d been groomed to be. He looked as if he’d only just concluded a business meeting and now had more important matters to attend. Matters that would no longer involve Hudson.

Hudson watched Ben with a rising dread as the other man slowly rose to his feet, his heart sinking as he waited for the killing blow that would finish him once and for all.

“I think it’s safe to say that if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”


End file.
